


Our Nyquil, Which Art (Not) In Medicine Cabinet

by galaxysoup



Series: Hail Mary-verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, heavy on the comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:13:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2531981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxysoup/pseuds/galaxysoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns out that fighting off viruses calls for a very different set of skills than fighting off the Apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Nyquil, Which Art (Not) In Medicine Cabinet

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS: Small for the Cas-is-crazy arc in Season 7.  
> THINGS RESEARCHED: Cold remedies. Communicable diseases. The history of board games. Really bad jokes.  
> WARNINGS: Discussion of various things connected to head colds. (‘Snot’ is basically what I’m getting at here.) Medical worst-case scenario paranoia. Gratuitous bashing of WebMD.
> 
> One year ago today (!!) I posted the very first chapter of _Hail Mary_. In honor of that momentous occasion, have a drabble! :D This takes place at a nebulous time somewhere after the final battle in _Hail Mary_ \- before Sam goes back to college but after things have settled down a bit.
> 
> Credit for the title goes to bold-sartorial-statement, who suggested sticking with a prayer theme when I finished writing this story but stalled out when it came to naming it. That was a good suggestion!

In retrospect, she probably should have seen it coming. Hindsight, of course, is 20/20 - not just because all of a sudden the consequences of past actions are really easy to spot, but because there are no longer other things to think about at the same time. Like, random example, guests checking out and Cas coming home and a hunter relying on information and fumigating Rufus’s stupid fallout shelter and… and Rufus’s fallout shelter of germs, or...

Where was she? Right. Seeing it coming. She hadn’t, and so she hadn’t taken any, any whatever, _medicine_ , and now she’s huddled under the covers with a respiratory system full of mucus, a throat that feels like it’s been peroxided, and possibly a touch of delirium too. Yay.

At least she’d finished up just about everything else before giving in. The only other inhabitant of the B&B right now is Cas, who is fully capable of fending for himself, and as soon as she works up the energy to get his attention she can ask him to hang the ‘no vacancy’ placard from the B&B’s sign. And maybe find her some tissues. And decongestants. And alcohol. Oooh, she could make a screwdriver, because orange juice has vitamin c and alcohol totally kills germs. It’s a great plan.

What was step one of the plan? 

Oh yeah, finding Cas.

No. Okay. First step in the plan is rolling over. Yaaaay, well done. Now step two is to push the covers back, and that was really hard so maybe she’ll just lie here for a moment.

Whoa. Coughing. Gross. Step four, roll out of bed.

Ow. 

Step _three,_ catch yourself as you roll out of bed. Oops. Step five, stand up… no, that was really hard, that totally counts as, like, step nine at least. And now she’s shivery and achy and step ten’s going to have to be taking her quilt with her.

Yes. Better. At least now if she falls over she’ll be well-padded! Ha.

Step eleven, find wall and lean on it. Hi, wall.

Step nine, proceed out of bedroom. Wait, nine was something else, so step… eleventy was walk, or… something. Find stairs? Yeah, eleventy can be stairs.

Whoa, stairs are steep. Eleventy will be to sit down and contemplate this carefully, because while it’s kind of a family trait to rush in where angels fear to - 

Ha! No. Angels never fear to tread where Winchesters go. Well, one angel doesn’t. Well, he might fear, but he does it anyway. Except that he’s not an angel now. But he was when he did most of his treading, so…

Maybe she’ll just put her head down for a minute. Thinking is hard and her head is really heavy and it’s all full of gross stuff. She should probably take a nap before she does much more.

“Mary?”

“Cas!” Mary turns her head and beams at him. “I knew you’d be here. ‘Cos I was going to tread.”

Cas looks kind of worried. Mary doesn’t like it when Cas worries. She likes it when he’s happy and curious and content and loved.

“Are you feeling well?”

He’s still loved when he worries, of course. It’s not like they stop loving him when he’s worried. That would be awful. That would be really really _mean._

He’s standing up and he’s really tall while she’s sitting, so she hugs his leg. “We still love you, Cas.”

“Thank you,” Cas says. “Mary, are you all right?”

“Yeah.” There was a bunch of stuff she was going to ask him, though. She was thinking about it when she was in bed.

Oooh, bed. Bed would be way comfier than the stairs. “I want to go to bed.”

“That would probably be wise,” Cas says. He crouches down next to her, which is awkward when she’s still got her arms wrapped around his leg, but it’s important to hang on to Cas so he knows he’s loved, so she doesn’t let go. “Have you come in contact with something recently, Mary?”

He puts his hand on her forehead. It’s nice. “Yep.”

Cas frowns. “Can you describe it to me? Is it still in the house?”

Mary makes a face. “Yep.” It’s in her sinuses and it’s really gross. Ugh. Her head hurts. And her joints. And her muscles. And her throat’s not too happy, either. And now she’s coughing. Ew, yuck.

Cas manages to get an arm around her shoulders, so she lets go of his leg and leans up against him instead. It’s okay because Cas is holding on to her now, so, same diff. “Mary, I need you to describe it for me.”

Mary sighs and curls up so she can bury her face in his neck. Cas is warm and that’s really nice. But how the hell is she supposed to know what her cold looks like? _Irritating._ “It’s, you know. Germy looking.”

“‘Germy looking’.” Cas’s tone is flat, but it’s the surprised-flat he does sometimes. “You’re sick. You haven’t been cursed.”

“Cursed with _germs,”_ Mary says balefully. “Stupid Rufus.” Stupid Rufus in his stupid fallout shelter in her stupid backyard because ‘you never know when you’ll need it, Mary’ and ‘it’s just to be safe, Mary’ and ‘all I need is another bottle of Johnny Walker, I’m a paranoid needlessly macho hunter and I refuse to take medicine or be sick in my own home, Mary’.

“Okay,” Cas says. “I’ll take you back to bed, and then I’ll put up the ‘no vacancy sign’ and I’ll, I’ll figure out what medicine you need and get it for you.”

Cas is the best. “I like beds,” Mary says gratefully.

“Yes, beds are very nice,” Cas agrees. “Are you capable of standing or would you like me to carry you?”

She really doesn’t want to stand up, but Cas is human now and has a back and stuff and she doesn’t want to hurt it. Cas has already had to do too much carrying of Winchesters. “Stand.”

It kind of turns into him picking her up instead of her standing up on her own, but hey! Standing eventually. Yay. And Cas keeps an arm around her and her quilt, which is nice, and then she gets to fall over on the bed, which is _very_ nice.

Cas pulls the quilt off her. “Noooo,” Mary complains, because it’s cold and the cold sucks, but then Cas tucks the quilt back around her and it’s a lot better than before, so yay Cas. Cas is awesome.

“Thank you,” Cas says gravely. “You’re awesome as well. Mary, can you tell me what kind of medicine you need?”

Mary burrows down in her lovely, lovely quilt. She doesn’t really want to think any more, because Tired, but Cas sounds worried again and that’s Bad. 

Medicine. Medicine. She’d been thinking about medicine before. Vitamin c kills germs and so does alcohol, that’s right! Mary is totally awesome too. 

“Screwdriver,” she says, and pulls every blanket she can reach over her head.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Castiel does not panic.

First he goes outside and carefully hangs the ‘No Vacancy’ placard from the little hooks on the bottom of the bed and breakfast’s sign. The placard exists more to keep outsiders away than to deter hunters, because in the case of an emergency hunters do not generally pay attention to things like ‘no vacancy’ signs. Hunters who visit the bed and breakfast also do not usually require the same kind of service as civilian visitors, and while Castiel is uncertain when it comes to matters relating to linens and mealtimes he is confident in areas related to research and killing supernatural things. The placard will accomplish enough.

Now he needs medicine for Mary.

He goes back inside. Mary had requested a screwdriver, which he suspects was either due to delirium or a double-meaning she thought he would understand. While he wants very much to bring her what she has asked for, it might be prudent to ask for some advice first.

He takes out his cell phone. His first instinct is to call Dean or Sam, but Mary had seemed certain that this was a normal human affliction and he knows that she doesn’t like to worry them. In any case, they’re together on a hunt in Iowa right now and probably busy.

Charlie is the next obvious source of information, but she’s visiting Oz with Dorothy and is currently unreachable. Missouri, the next most knowledgeable person he can think of, does not answer. The Prophet… well, he’d probably better not. Kevin Tran is friendly with them and willingly attends hunter-specific social events, but he has also taken pains to distance himself from his former calling. 

Castiel takes a deep breath and does not panic again. What he really needs is to speak sensibly with Mary. In her metaphorical absence, and if he cannot contact researchers, psychics, or prophets, then he should contact someone as like her as possible.

He calls the Roadhouse. Jo answers instead of Ellen, but by now Castiel is starting to feel slightly frazzled and is willing to take what he can get. “What is a screwdriver.”

There’s a long pause on the other end. He can hear a lot of bustle in the background - the bar must be busy, for all that it’s barely midday. 

“...Cas?” Jo says finally. 

Castiel scowls and rephrases. He is _not panicking._ “If a sick person requests a screwdriver, what does she mean?”

“Uh,” Jo says. “What kind of sick? Like, upset stomach sick or cold sick?”

“Cold.” That, at least, is easy to answer.

“Probably the drink, then. Orange juice and vodka.”

Castiel hangs up. The orange juice makes sense, because oranges are a natural source of a number of vitamins and nutrients that the human body requires to function adequately.

The vodka is mysterious. In Castiel’s experience alcohol causes dullness of feeling and fuzziness of thought, and then terrible headaches and an upset stomach. It seems like a very strange thing for an already ill person to want.

Perhaps there is a special kind of vodka that has medicinal properties?

Decision made, he walks as quietly as possible past Mary’s room and into the bathroom. Mary is still curled up under her covers, and while he worries about her oxygen levels while she’s so insulated he remembers how comforting it was to be warm while he was sick. He will leave her be for now but be sure to check on her periodically.

There is in fact a bottle of alcohol in the bathroom medicine cabinet, but it is of the rubbing rather than the vodka variety. The label says it kills germs, which seems promising, but it also cautions against ingestion.

He calls Jo again. The bar sounds louder and Jo seems a little harried when she answers. “What, Cas?”

“What purpose does the alcohol in the screwdriver serve?”

“It dulls the pain of existence,” Jo snaps. “I dunno, Cas, it’s alcohol. It does what alcohol always does.”

That’s unhelpful, so Castiel hangs up again and frowns at the medicine cabinet. He does not want to give Mary something that will make her feel worse. Although it pains him to deny her something she asked for, he decides not to provide her with the screwdriver. He will have to find some other medicine instead.

As an angel most of his illnesses or injuries were solved by simple endurance and a willingness to ignore pain, and although he had been sick as a human when he and Mary first met it is all unhelpfully distorted in his memory. He does vaguely remember being made to drink and eat and take some pills. 

There are several containers of pills in the bathroom cabinet. Castiel frowns. He thinks the pills he had taken before were pale and oblong, so he begins opening bottles and boxes and investigating their contents.

There are two kinds of pale oblong pills, one white and one light blue. He reads the labels carefully. The first promises to reduce the pain of severe headaches, and the other soothes cramps. 

Mary had not seemed to be in pain. She had seemed feverish and congested and tired. She is a hunter, though, and in Castiel’s experience hunters are chronically unable to articulate their needs.

He sighs in irritation. He does not often let himself think about the things he can no longer do since he relinquished his Grace in favor of humanity, largely because it is counterproductive and ultimately pointless, but there are times when the comparisons are unavoidable. 

He used to be able to diagnose with a look and heal with a touch. Now he is reduced to guesswork. It is… vexing. And worrying. Humans are so fragile and if he gets this wrong he may not be able to fix the results, and that… if Mary comes to harm -

He does not panic. He doesn’t. He just has to crouch down for a moment until the spots clear from his vision and his breathing is back under control.

He gathers his medicines and goes into Mary’s room. She’s nearly invisible under the bedding and resists fiercely when he tries to uncover her.

“I have two kinds of medication,” he says.

Mary glares at him. “I’m fine, leave me alone,” she mumbles, and pulls the covers over her head again.

This is deeply unhelpful. Castiel retreats to the hallway and calls Jo again. This time there is whooping in the background. 

“Cas, for the love of Jesus, it is just a cold and I _do not have time_ -”

“Excedrin or Midol?” Castiel asks, frowning at the blasphemy. 

“Wow, what?” Jo says incredulously, stumbling over her indignation. 

“I have pills labeled Excedrin and Midol and Mary refuses to tell me which is appropriate,” Castiel says sharply. 

“Uh, neither of them?” Jo says. In the background something breaks, and Jo swears. “Look, Cas, I’ve got an impromptu hunter bachelorette party to deal with. Just go online and Google it, okay?”

Castiel sighs and hangs up. Mary’s wellbeing is far more important than the Roadhouse’s furnishings, but Jo’s advice is not terrible.

He checks on Mary (still breathing) and goes to retrieve the laptop from Mary’s office. He balances it carefully on the side of the bathroom sink, opens the internet, and painstakingly types C O L D M E D I C I N E into the search bar.

The results are mostly advertisements, which he does not trust, and in any case none of them resemble the contents of the bathroom medicine cabinet. He tries F E V E R M E D I C I N E next and gets advertisements again, but fewer of them and this time a place calling itself the Mayo Clinic promises ‘a quick guide to treating a fever’. 

He exhales, relieved. The site advocates rest, plenty of fluids, and any one of several kinds of painkillers as needed. 

He can provide these things.

Giddy with relief, he locates a bottle of ‘ibuprofen’ (small, round, brown) in the medicine cabinet and conducts a raid on the kitchen for a carton of orange juice, a pitcher of water, and a glass. At the last moment he changes his mind and grabs a travel mug instead, because it has a lid and there will be less danger of it spilling if Mary has to drink while reclining.

He returns to the bedroom and rummages through the blankets until he finds Mary. “I have brought you fluids.”

She grumbles and pulls the blankets back. This is not conducive to his ability to make her better, so Castiel removes the blankets entirely. Mary whines and curls up, unhappy with being exposed to the air of the bedroom.

“I will return the blankets if you drink your fluids,” Castiel negotiates. He does not like increasing her discomfort, but the fluids are very important. The website had been quite clear.

By the time she has consumed a mug of juice, a mug of water, and the recommended dosage of ibuprofen for adults or children 12 years or older she is shivering, so he returns the blankets to her. She immediately disappears underneath them, not even bothering to glare at him.

He collects the laptop from the bathroom and seats himself on the floor next to the bed so he can continue to provide her with fluids at one-hour intervals. He is glad to have discovered a solution for the fever, but Mary has other symptoms as well.

Aha. Below the Mayo Clinic site there is a link labeled ‘WebMD’. Surely an internet doctor will be a wealth of information! Castiel clicks on it and gets to work.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The afternoon passes in a blur. Mary’s aware of Cas waking her up and making her drink fluids and take pills, and periodically questioning her about her symptoms as he helps her to the bathroom, but she mostly wants to hide under her blankets and sleep so she tries to ignore it.

By nightfall her fever dies down enough that she feels pretty lucid, although weak and still quite uncomfortable. Cas wakes her up with a tissue in one hand and a mug of something hot in the other.

“Blow your nose,” he commands, shoving the tissue in her face. “If you do not clear out your sinuses a secondary infection could set in.”

Mary obediently blows her nose. Cas hasn’t stolen her blankets again since the first time, but she’s not going to push it. He makes for a terrifyingly determined nursemaid.

He watches her critically. “Is the mucus green?”

“Um. No,” Mary says, blinking.

“Good.” He holds out the mug. “The drainage from your sinuses will have given you a sore throat. You must drink this tea.”

Mary grimaces. He throat does hurt, and her head is so stuffed up that it feels like it’s several sizes too big. She takes the mug, eyeing it dubiously.

The tea has actual leaves floating in it. Mary takes a cautious sip and gags. “Augh, God, the hell?”

“It’s for your sore throat,” Cas repeats. “Drink it.”

Mary chokes down another sip. Jesus, it’s really foul. It’s sickeningly sweet but bitter and has a really unfortunate bite that doesn’t quite cut through the overwhelming taste of mulch. “What’s in this?” she wheezes.

“Hot water, honey, lemon, peppermint, and cayenne pepper,” Cas rattles off. “All have either soothing or antibiotic properties and may contribute to decongestion as well.”

Well, her sinuses _are_ kind of stinging now. She stirs the tea with her spoon, buying time before she has to take another sip. A large chunk of lemon rind floats to the top, which goes a long way towards explaining the bitterness. “Where did you learn how to make this?”

“The internet.” Sure enough, she spots her laptop sitting on the floor next to several pages of handwritten notes. Oh boy. She probably should have seen this one coming too.

She swallows another mouthful of the awful, awful tea. It does seem to be making her throat hurt a little less, although that could just be because her body is now actively shutting down in protest every time she takes a sip. Cas watches her, frowning slightly.

“Thanks for taking such good care of me, Cas,” Mary says.

His expression lightens a little. “The tea is working? And the fever, it is less?” He checks her forehead anyway, and then prods the side of her neck. “I think your glands are swollen.”

“That’s not uncommon, Cas. It’s okay. It’s a bad cold, but it’s not dangerous.” He doesn’t look reassured, but her body is increasingly making it known that it wants to get horizontal and unconscious sooner rather than later. She hands him the mug and squeezes his knee reassuringly. “I’m feeling a lot better now, I promise. I just need some sleep, okay? You can check on me in the morning?”

He nods. “Yes. Sleep is recommended. I will check on you in the morning.”

“Okay, good.” She gives his knee another squeeze and sets to burying herself in blankets again. “You’ve done a really good job, Cas.”

He doesn’t respond. She tugs down the corner of her blanket so she can see his face - he’s staring worriedly down at the computer, his shoulders tense.

“Hey,” she says, and he startles. “Seriously, I’m going to be fine. You should get some sleep too. Go to bed, huh?”

He nods and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, Mary.”

Sleep’s dragging at her now - it’s a fight to keep her eyes open, but she doesn’t like the look on his face. “You want to pull your mattress in here? We can keep an eye on each other.”

“Okay,” he says, and unbends enough to kiss her on the forehead. “I will see you in the morning.”

She’s asleep before he stands up from the bed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She wakes up the next morning feeling stuffed up and disgusting and achy, but clearheaded and fairly alert.

She rolls over. The first thing that catches her eye is a pile of tissue boxes and rolls of toilet paper stacked up next to the bed. It looks like the world’s most badly thought-out barricade and she’s kind of impressed that they actually had that much in the B&B, although it does make her worry a little about how much Cas thinks her nose is going to run when her sinuses start clearing out.

Speaking of Cas…

Well, at least he’d pulled in his mattress, even if it doesn’t look like he followed through with the ‘sleeping on it’ part of the plan. He’s seated in the middle, hunched over the laptop and surrounded by pieces of paper and sticky notes and what looks like the entire contents of the medicine cabinet.

“Cas?”

He looks over at her. There are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is sticking up unevenly, and his expression could probably best be described as ‘tragic horror’.

Mary’s stomach plummets. “Cas, what’s wrong?” She’d been wiped out enough that she wouldn’t have heard the phone ring last night. She’d assumed that all this research was illness-related, but Dean and Sam are on a hunt _right now_ and she can’t think of any other reason for Cas to look this distraught.

Cas bites his lip. “I think you have tuberculosis.”

Mary stares. “What.”

Cas turns the laptop screen to face her. “You have many of the initial symptoms.”

Mary squints at the screen. He’s looking at something called WebMD. There’s a list - _overall sensation of feeling unwell, cough, fatigue, fever_... “That describes practically every cold I’ve ever had in my life and half of the flus, it’s _totally_ unhelpful,” she says indignantly. God, Cas looks like someone just murdered a box of adorable baby animals in front of him. Who the hell is responsible for running these sites?

Cas drops the laptop. “How long have you had these symptoms?!”

“What?” Mary says, and then catches an upside-down glimpse of the phrase _latent tuberculosis_ on the laptop screen and sucks in a breath. “Oh, sweetie, no -” 

Taking that deep breath had been a mistake. She doubles over coughing and damn near gives Cas a heart attack in the process. By the time she raises her pounding head from where she’d been muffling her coughs against the mattress, he’s already on the phone with Sam.

“ - mortality rate is 45% percent worldwide but the facilities nearby should be adequate. Nevertheless you may want to -”

Mary snatches the phone away. “It’s just a cold, I am _fine,”_ she rasps.

“You sound kind of bad,” Sam says cautiously. In the background she can hear Dean saying "Is that her? Give me the - give me the _phone_ , Sam - _quit it -_ ow!”

“Have you ever heard of a criminally alarmist website called ‘WebMD’?” Mary asks over the sound of the scuffle.

“ _Oh,”_ Sam says, understanding dawning. “Oh, geez, yeah. Okay. You’re really not too sick, though, right?”

“Well, I think my sinuses might look like a petri dish right now, but -” there’s a thump and a clatter, and then Dean’s too-casual voice says “Hey, Mom, how are you feeling?”

“Like I _have a cold,”_ Mary says, rolling her eyes. It’s sweet that they’re worried, it honestly is, and if their positions were reversed she would probably be reacting the same way. They all tend to cling a little tighter, given the things they’ve been through, but she does not feel anywhere near well enough yet to deal with a three-way freakout. She reaches out to pet Cas’s hair absently. He actually looks moderately soothed by it, which she files away for future consideration.

“Well, of course,” Dean says. “Tuberculosis, where did he even get that one? It’s definitely, you know, _naturally occurring_ though, right?”

She hears Sam say something in the background. It’s too muffled to understand, but the cadence of it is sarcastic. “Don’t hit your brother,” she says quickly.

“Didn’t do it,” Dean says automatically. “Uh. Look, we’re just about wrapped up here, so we’ll probably head home soon.”

Mary weighs the amount of energy she would use convincing them she’s fine over the phone versus the annoyed, itchy feeling of being hovered over when they come home, and lets her head thump back against her pillow. “Okay, honey, we’ll see you later. Drive safe, you hear me? No speeding.”

“I would never,” Dean says, entirely unconvincingly.

Mary hangs up and drops the phone over the edge of the bed somewhere. 

“I overreacted,” Cas says stiffly.

“Yeah, but that’s okay,” Mary says, petting his hair again. He slumps down a little bit, not quite leaning into it but not leaning away either. “It can be scary to see someone you love not feeling well. I think I was kind of delirious for a while there too, huh?”

Cas nods, still looking downcast, and Mary feels understanding strike. “ _Oh._ This is the first time one of us has been sick since you gave up your mojo.” As the kids say, _duh._ She’ll blame the fever for how long it took her to pin that one down.

Cas sighs and looks away. “I have faith in your ability to overcome things like this. It was not the healing that I missed most, it was the diagnostic abilities.”

Mary nods. That makes a lot of sense, particularly given what she remembers of being Israfel’s host. She’d been able to see everything from the twist of the universe to the molecules in the dirt. Figuring out an ill human - and the medication required to nurse one - would have been simplicity itself. “So you tried to diagnose me with the internet,” she says slowly, and leans out of bed to grab the nearest pill bottle. It’s Midol, which gives her a moment of hilarity, but the post-it note stuck to it sobers her up fast. She doesn’t know enough chemistry to do more than recognize the symbols when she sees them, but that’s enough. “And you tried to figure out how to break all this down and make the right medication?”

“It wouldn’t have worked,” Cas says, shrugging. “Not with what I had here. And I was wrong about the diagnosis anyway, so…” he rubs his forehead. “I would have done more harm. You should probably see a doctor. The websites all recommend that.” His voice trails off.

“I’ll tell you what,” Mary says. “I’ll text Dean and ask him to pick up some decongestants and things on the way here.” It’s probably unnecessary - she’ll lay odds that he shows up with half a pharmacy anyway. “And in the meantime we both take a nap. Okay? I’d hate for you to get sick too.”

Cas nods. “Yes. There is sense to that. You should have some fluids first.”

Mary smiles. “And a bathroom break, frankly.” She levers herself upright, groaning when it makes her spine ache and her head pound. Cas’s hands twitch like he’s fighting the urge to reach out to her. “Hey, Cas? You did do a really good job of taking care of me, I’m not just saying that.”

Cas gives her a sideways look. “I panicked.”

Mary shrugs. “That’s okay. It happens. You should have seen me the first time Dean got the sniffles as a baby, you would have thought he was on death’s door. Every time he cried I was convinced I was a terrible mother, and I’ll tell you a secret.” She leans in close. “John was _way worse_ about it than I was. Our pediatrician threatened to sedate him.”

Cas gives her a little smile, and she pauses to tousle his hair as she staggers to the bathroom. By the time she gets back he’s curled up on his mattress and dead to the world.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She wakes up somewhere north of midday feeling disgusting and unwashed but marginally more healthy. Cas’s mattress is abandoned and she can hear the distant clink of dishes from the kitchen, so she hauls herself into the bathroom.

She doesn’t have quite enough energy to take a proper shower, but sitting in the bottom of the tub under the hot water for ten minutes goes a long way to making her feel more human even if she does feel a little guilty for wasting the water. She has to stop and rest twice as she towels off and puts on clean pajamas, but the pressure in her head is a lot less and it feels easier to breathe.

She’s still too stuffed up to smell anything when she gets out into the hallway but she’s pretty sure she can hear the coffee maker percolating, so she wobbles her way downstairs. Sure enough, Cas is in the kitchen poking at something in a frying pan. Mary hopes it’s bacon - Cas makes absolutely spectacular bacon.

She frowns. Cas is standing a little strangely, kind of tilted to one side. As she watches he lists a little too far and has to catch himself.

“Cas?”

He turns towards her, and oh boy - those are definitely fever-bright eyes. Damn. “How you feeling, kiddo?”

“Fine,” he says, and then all the blood drains out of his face.

Mary shoves a kitchen chair underneath him just in time to keep him from hitting the ground, and pushes his head between his knees before he can pass out completely. Then, of course, the sudden exertion catches up with her and she starts coughing.

“I feel a little unwell,” Cas admits, his voice muffled, and sneezes explosively. “Ow.”

“We are both sick, my friend,” Mary wheezes, her forehead against his shoulder.

By the time Dean and Sam come through the door several hours later, as predicted laden down with several shopping bags of medical supplies, Mary and Cas are on the couch under several layers of blankets and the sad remains of a box and a half of tissues. Cas is asleep against Mary’s shoulder, making clogged sounds as he breathes, and Mary’s nose is so sore that she’s really starting to wonder if the tissues are made of some kind of sandpaper.

Dean and Sam pull up short. They’re probably weighing the merits of staying and possibly getting sick themselves versus chucking the supplies in the direction of the couch and making a run for it. If Mary were a better person she would tell them to save themselves. 

“Please make soup happen,” she croaks instead, well aware of how pathetic she sounds.

“I got popsicles too,” Dean says, heading towards the kitchen with determination.

Sam edges a little further into the living room and glances at the TV. “You’re watching _Doctor Sexy?”_ He frowns. “You’re… watching the DVD menu of _Doctor Sexy?”_

“Cas dropped the remote,” Mary explains. It’s nearly two feet away from them now. Watching the DVD menu replay on an endless loop for the last half-hour had been way easier than getting it back.

Sam’s mouth twitches. “Wow. Okay, do you want me to put something else on?”

“I want to find out if Doctor Piccolo’s amnesia patient is Doctor Sexy’s tragically long-lost half-sister,” Cas mumbles without opening his eyes.

“Ooh, that’s such a good storyline!” Dean says, leaning out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon in one hand. Sam sighs and opens the next DVD case.

“Just because you both look really pathetic right now,” he mutters.

Cas manages to sit himself up a little and keep his eyes open until Dean finishes with the soup - tomato with rice, which makes Mary smile.

“My mom used to make me this,” she says, scraping the last bite out of the bottom of the bowl with her spoon. Thinking about Deanna still raises an ache in her chest, but it’s a good kind of ache - sad, but grateful at the same time.

“Dean used to make it for me, too,” Sam says, frowning at the TV screen. “Wait, hang on, this doesn’t make any sense - in the last episode Piccolo said she didn’t want anything to do with Tomas, why are they hooking up in the supply closet? And how can he cheat on Makeba, she’s awesome!”

“Technically they’re on a break right now,” Dean says, grinning at Sam. It takes Sam a moment to notice it and then he scowls.

“I didn’t say I was _interested_ , I just said it didn’t make any sense!”

Dean keeps grinning at him. Sam scowls and starts gathering up their soup bowls. Cas, who had conked out on his shoulder, slumps over onto the couch cushions without waking.

“It’s impressive how he can make cleaning up look sulky,” Mary half-whispers to Dean. Sam rolls his eyes at them and goes off to the kitchen in a huff.

Dean cackles and gets up for another blanket, tossing it over Cas. He checks Cas’s forehead for fever and shakes his head. “Bet Cas is regretting humanity now, huh?” He smiles crookedly, like he can’t decide whether to be teasing or serious.

“He doesn’t, actually,” Mary says, tugging down the hem of the blanket so it covers Cas completely. “I’ve asked. He misses some of the things he used to be able to do but he says he’s glad he chose us. It’s pretty humbling.”

“How do you mean?” Sam asks from the doorway. “We met a couple of okay ones along the way, but the angels were mostly dicks. He’s better off here. They did some really awful stuff to him.”

Mary considers this for a moment. Not trying to influence Cas’s choice to remain human was one of the hardest things she’s done, which given her life so far is saying something. If he’d asked for Grace instead she would have sent him off with a hug and all the best wishes in her heart, but she probably would have spent the rest of her life terrified that one of the extremists in Heaven had taken over again and put him in danger. She wants him here, where they can protect him and where they can make sure he knows he’s valuable and wanted.

But she also understands how much he’s given up.

“Sam,” she says slowly, “you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but how much were you aware of with Gadreel? And Lucifer?”

Sam’s mouth tightens and he glances away, but his voice is even when he answers. “Not a lot. Mostly just what they wanted me to see, which is to say Lucifer wanted me to watch him kill people and Gadreel didn’t want me to know anything.”

Mary nods, pushing aside her horror for the moment. She’ll have to make sure to take Sam aside the next time she has an opportunity and see if he wants to talk about any of this. They’ve discussed Gadreel several times, but they’ve never really gotten into Lucifer.

“Israfel was different,” she says, which is a massive understatement on a lot of levels. “She let me see everything she was up to, and it was… overwhelming. Amazing. The other angels might not have been much to write home about, but when Cas chose us he gave up more than just family - he gave up an entire universe. The things he used to be able to see, the places he used to be able to go… anywhere, anywhen, whatever he wanted.”

“He never took advantage of any of that as an angel,” Dean says, shoulders hunching defensively. “And he gets to travel as much as he wants now.”

“And he’s having a ball,” Mary agrees. “But when he made the choice it was still us versus the universe, and we won. I find it humbling.”

“I never really thought about it like that,” Sam admits. “He was always so business-oriented before. But remember the bees, when he was crazy? And the sandwiches and the way he was so obsessed with board games?” He looks thoughtful. “Maybe that was a look at the way Cas wanted to be, if he hadn’t had all the other stuff to deal with.”

“He was crazy, Sam,” Dean says, shooting him a look. “Don’t forget the ‘naked’ part of the bee experience.”

“Yeah,” Sam concedes, “But think about it. Until we closed Heaven that was also one of the only times he’s ever insisted on doing exactly what he wanted to do and not what he thought he needed to do. And what he wanted to do was zip around and free mistreated animals and not fight and - and make us sandwiches and play games.”

And now he brings home souvenirs and takes care of his friends and only picks up a hunt if someone’s desperate for help and no one else is available. Mary wasn’t around for what Sam’s talking about, but the way he’s described it makes a lot of sense. 

“Well, that’s incredibly depressing,” Dean says finally. “Do we have any board games?”

Mary blinks. “Yeah, actually. Hall closet, about eye-level.” She evaluates her audience. “ _My_ eye-level.”

Sam grins. Dean gestures in the direction of the hall closet. “Pick something out that you can play while sick and half-conscious, Sammy.”

“I think he mostly wants to sleep right now, Dean,” Sam says, but he goes to the hall closet anyway, raising his voice so they can hear him while he investigates. “Uh.. Trivial Pursuit, no. Risk, definitely not… looks like our best options are Sorry, Chutes and Ladders, or Candy Land.”

“Not Sorry,” Dean says, wincing. “How about Chutes and Ladders? Candy Land is too easy to cheat at.”

Sam reappears holding the game. “How is Candy Land easy to cheat at?”

“It’s not, forget I said anything,” Dean says quickly, giving Mary an ‘ooops’ face. “Come on, we should go over the rules and make sure we remember how to play this before Cas wakes up.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Castiel wakes slowly. He is warm and reasonably comfortable, and he can hear Mary, Dean, and Sam talking nearby. Regaining consciousness doesn’t seem necessary, so he allows himself to drift.

Gradually, he becomes aware enough that the conversation around him begins to turn into words instead of just soothing background noise. It doesn’t make very much sense, though, which makes him think he might be hallucinating a bit.

“ - _do_ , Sam, I spun a six! That means I get to go again!”

“Does not, you _cheater._ Mom!”

“You’re just mad you slacked off while you were fishing and had to go back to the twenty-six square. Bitch.”

There’s a rustle of paper. “Dean, language. Sam, spinning a six does let you go again, it’s in the rules.”

“I think Dean should get sent back for swearing,” Sam says primly. 

“That seems fair,” Mary agrees.

“What? No! I made it all the way to the punk-ass flexing kid!”

Castiel opens his eyes. He is lying on the living room couch with a blanket tucked around him. Dean and Sam are hunched over a board game on the coffee table, glaring at each other. At the other end of the couch Mary is also wrapped in a blanket and is frowning at a pamphlet. She looks pale and tired, but alert.

“Does this conversation make sense?” he wonders aloud, and it makes him cough. Dean helps him sit up, which is very thoughtful. 

“How you feeling?”

Castiel frowns. His throat hurts and his joints hurt and his head feels extremely peculiar. Dean’s hand on his shoulder feels nice, though. “I don’t know. None of you make sense right now.”

“We’re playing a board game, Cas,” Sam says, smiling at him. “Want to try?”

“You don’t like playing board games,” Castiel reminds Dean. He’s not a very accurate hallucination.

“I do sometimes,” Dean says. He looks strangely guilty. “You sound a little rough, there - you want a popsicle? It’ll feel good on your throat.”

He might as well. “Okay.”

Dean goes and fetches one. It’s violently orange but it does feel nice when Castiel eats it. “Thank you. This does have a palliative effect.” It also feels very real, which makes him think that Sam and Dean and Mary are merely being confusing instead of being made up. 

“Do you like the taste?” Mary asks, looking up from her pamphlet.

“Yes,” Castiel says. “I’m not entirely sure what flavor it’s intended to be, but it’s nice. What game are you playing?”

Sam holds up the box. “Chutes and Ladders. Dean cheats.”

Castiel frowns at the picture on the box. It looks familiar, but it takes him a moment to place it. “Moksha Patam, created in India in the 16th century to teach the concept of karma.” He looks at Dean. “You clearly have not understood the lesson if you’re cheating at the game.”

“Is nobody on my side any more?” Dean laments. It’s a rhetorical question, so Castiel doesn’t answer it. He slides off the couch instead to kneel by the coffee table. It’s a little awkward since he wants to bring his blanket with him and also needs to avoid dropping his popsicle, but he makes it.

“Yes. I would like to play.”

Sam smiles at him again. “Great. I’ll set it up.” He starts clearing the game pieces off the board and lining everything up in an orderly fashion. “Hey, Cas?”

Castiel looks up from his inspection of the game pieces. “Yes?”

“Do you miss it? Being able to see stuff like Mok… like the game board being invented? When you had your mojo you could do a lot more.”

On the surface it seems like a straightforward question, but Sam’s body language looks tense and Dean seems to be listening for his answer very carefully. Castiel glances at Mary. She smiles, at ease, and it reassures him.

In the absence of complete information about the situation, Castiel goes with honesty. “Of course. Just as I miss my siblings.” They had disappointed and betrayed him more often than they had helped, but they are still his family and it’s strange for them to be gone.

Dean and Sam exchange looks. Castiel raises his eyebrow at Mary. She clearly knows what’s going on and is not being very helpful about it.

She laughs, understanding his expression. “They’re worried you regret choosing humanity.”

Castiel blinks, baffled. “Why would I?”

“Why _wouldn’t_ you?” Dean counters. “Your family might have been a mixed bag but you used to be able to travel everywhere and see anything, and now you’re laid low by a virus and reduced to - to popsicles.”

The popsicle is almost gone now. Soon the remains of it won’t be able to stay on the stick, which will be awkward. “I did enjoy many of the things I used to be able to do very much, and although the popsicle is appreciated I am extremely displeased by the virus,” Castiel agrees. 

Dean and Sam look worried. Castiel sighs and makes sure he has their attention. “Now I travel on Earth and participate in human things, just as I traveled as an angel. Only the scale has changed. I still remember everything I’ve seen. I haven’t lost that.” 

There are words on the popsicle stick. The handle says _Why was six afraid of seven?_ Castiel eats the last bit of popsicle and reveals the answer. “‘Because seven eight nine’?” 

Saying it out loud helps reveal the meaning. “Oh, I see - it’s a double meaning. That’s clever.” He holds the stick out to them. “Only a human would see this. Angels don’t need to eat.”

“And… that’s worth giving up superpowers?” Dean says skeptically.

Castiel sighs. “It’s a perk. What I mean is that humans and angels experience things very differently. As an angel I would look at that popsicle and see the chemical nature of the ingredients - “ which would probably be frightening, given the color “ - or the history of its creation or the lives of the people who touched it. As a human I can eat the popsicle. I can taste it and feel the cold of it and find the secret joke and laugh at it. It is a smaller experience, perhaps, but still valuable. One is not objectively better than the other. Even if I do miss being able to see things the angelic way, I can still enjoy the human way.”

Sam is nodding as if he understands this, but Dean doesn’t look convinced. Mary looks like she would like a popsicle too. 

Castiel puts down the popsicle stick. This will probably make Dean uncomfortable, but apparently it’s necessary to say it anyway. “In any case it’s not the popsicle that’s worth giving up superpowers for, it’s the people who give it to me and ask me if I like it and make sure I’m okay. Who play board games they don’t like and watch shows they say they hate. Everybody gives up something for the people they love. You - all of you - are worth the universe.”

“Giving up the whole universe is on a slightly different scale,” Sam says dryly, but he’s smiling a little bit. He knows it’s not just the TV show or the board game Castiel is talking about. They have all given up much bigger things for each other over the years.

“Scale is relative,” Castiel says, shrugging. “The point stands.”

Dean shifts uncomfortably and mutters “Backatcha. _Nerd.”_ But he checks Castiel’s forehead for fever when he says it, so Castiel knows his gruffness is just for show.

Castiel points imperiously at the kitchen. “Get Mary a popsicle. She’s sick too.”

Dean sticks his tongue out but complies. 

Mary’s popsicle is green and she eats it while they set up the board game and begin to play. Dean does cheat outrageously. Sam protests loudly and asks Castiel to punish Dean by reciting the history of board games in India, which backfires because he and Mary find it to be a very interesting topic and they soon lose track of the game entirely.

Mary’s popsicle stick says “What is smarter than a talking bird? A spelling bee!” and she washes it off and gives it to him to keep.

It’s a very pleasant afternoon.

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh I love writing things from Cas’s POV. I always forget how fun it is!
> 
> This story is sort of a mash-up of a prompt from tales-at-dusk (Mary explaining to Sam and Dean just how much Cas gave up by becoming human, a la the scene with Cas and Charlie in _Redemption Arc_ ), and something that just popped into my head as I was writing the end of _Hail Mary_ proper (Cas taking care of Mary while she’s sick). So voila!


End file.
